


Immortal

by JazzRaft



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-16 22:10:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13645443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JazzRaft/pseuds/JazzRaft
Summary: He would only die for the life of his king, not for his death. The Immortal holds onto the mockery of his name for just a moment longer. His duty is not done until Noctis lives.





	Immortal

“Perhaps, we’ll meet again… at daybreak.”

He didn’t care if he was lying. He didn’t care if he didn’t quite make it to that new dawn. He knew what he’d been rushing into in order to save the king. It was what he should have jumped in front of two times over already. Death came hurtling towards his sovereign; it was his duty and his honor to intercept it.

He didn’t care that it hurt like all hell – the fire burned like penance against his chest, reaching sharp, blackened fingers towards his heart. He didn’t care if he went out with a blast rather than a blade like he’d always expected. He didn’t give a shit about the irony – a dog of war taken out by a three-headed canine, _hah_. He didn’t care that it was almost poetic that it was Cerberus that did it – his past, his present, and his future, all barking with bared teeth at his skull.

He didn’t care if he died. He didn’t care if he burned. He didn’t care about what he deserved in the end for failing two kings – his dearest friend, the one man who believed in him for more than his scores and his spite. He would have welcomed whatever retribution the dead would have of him for that. He didn’t care what happened to him. His body could burn, but his soul could walk tall to greet his old friend in knowing he’d saved his son.

But he didn’t.

He knew.

Something was wrong. Something wasn’t right in the set of the Chosen King’s jaw.

Noctis had always been quiet. He shut his heart far back behind his eyes, pressed his lips tight together to lock the truths he was too afraid to say back in his head where they’d be safe.

But this silence was different.

Cor recognized the notes of the boy he’d half-raised in the man’s face. He saw his sadness, the somber solemnity of expecting something he didn’t want to accept – cancelled plans, the unsaid wroth of a council’s judgment, the newscasts of a world smoldering beyond the Wall. He saw his fear, a fleeting flicker of doubt, only there for a moment in the unfamiliar face, but so much like the child he could still see trembling in the blue of his eyes.

He saw a boy hiding in the shadow of a strange man, pretending that he couldn’t be scared if there was someone taller to fight his battles for him. He saw that man silence that fear and that sadness and all that doubt that Cor remembered with a harsher hand than he ever would have allowed to touch the prince.

He saw a mask of a king, a crown of thorns, forced onto the head of a frightened child.

He cared about _that_.

He’d _always_ cared about that.

In spite of all his best efforts, trying so hard not to grow so attached that the weight of the Crown destined for him made Cor’s own heart ache as much as it agonized in Noctis, he cared that his prince was in pain.

He cared that he was scared. And he cared a great deal that he was lying to himself about all of it. That he would let this stranger’s face speak for him, a façade of the Draconian’s design, a tool tempered for his own ends, carving out the boy with callous indifference because he didn’t make his Crown shine the way he liked. A greedy dragon, hoarding shining jewels he’d never earned to admire.

Noctis said nothing to him. He stared at him for a long time like he was screaming, thinking that Cor couldn’t hear him, knowing he shouldn’t let him if he could. The King nodded to seal the promise that neither of them knew they would fulfill.

Cor didn’t care that he was burning. He didn’t care that he was lying – it wouldn’t be the first time.

He cared that Noctis was. About far more than a rendez-vous in the light of day.

Cor couldn’t die right then and there like his wounds demanded he do. He couldn’t stay on his knees as the King walked away, rushing with his retinue to make it to the throne room.

He would die before his King. This curse of trivialized immortality would be lifted when he gave his life for that of his King’s.

But not like this.

Life was one more day until they were too tired to see the next. Life was an age, not a mere hour, not even less. Life for Noctis was a light he deserved to see, a kingdom he was brave enough to guide beneath those bright banners of sunlight. Life for Noctis was long leagues of laughter. Of letting his heart leave its shutters at long last. Of entrusting it to the people that loved him enough for him to allow them to know it. To keep it safe.

Cor had helped keep Noctis alive, but had he truly lived?

Fear wasn’t life. Being locked up in his room, deep inside his head, wasn’t living.

Cor hadn’t saved _his_ king. He’d saved a liar, carrying his king in shackles and chains to a fate he didn’t deserve.

That made Cor angry. Angry enough to get to his feet, skin screaming as it peeled and cracked. Angry enough to cleave three heads from snapping at his throat. Angry enough to hunt after the pretender that had captured his prince, stuffing lies into his head from a serpent’s tongue.

_That Crown is not yours._

They would kill the jester king, but for what? Another pretender to take his seat? Another serpent to coil around the arms of the throne to slither in the ears of its master?

Cor had never put much faith in the gods. He’d seen far too much of war to believe in divine benevolence. Not when he’d witnessed so much cruelty.

But he believed in devils. He believed in ancient evils masquerading as holy creatures. He believed in the folly of man for facing something bigger than their own minds could comprehend and affording it the mantle of “god.” And no matter how much that it might make him a hypocrite, he didn’t believe an immortal had any right to dictate death to those that weren’t.

His work wasn’t done.

It was _his_ duty to give his life for the throne. Not Noct’s.

Cor marched onwards. He grit his teeth against the fire in his chest, he spurned the mockery of his moniker and wielded it as gospel for just this once. The one time it mattered. He would outlive his king just this one time. For just long enough to see him live. Just long enough to know he’d kept him safe.

He would take a thousand lies with him to his grave.

But not this one. Not Noct’s lie.

Noctis would see that dawn. Only then would Cor let himself die. Only then would his curse be lifted. He was the Immortal, damnit. He would not stop until that mantle was passed. His King deserved it far more than he.

**Author's Note:**

> written for a request over on [tumblr.](http://jazzraft.tumblr.com/post/170231073037/im-so-glad-your-taking-requests-again-i-love)  
> The Royal Edition will be fine. Cor will be fine. Everything with be _fine._


End file.
